We had Miss M in one-on-one therapy this year for several months to try to get to the bottom of what, exactly, her attention-slash-social deficits are.
What she received was another adult who got to know her very well. She loved the one-on-one attention and got to creatively express herself. Over the course of months, things seemed to smooth out at school, but I wouldn’t necessarily attribute that to the therapy. Although who really knows?
Taxman and I also had a few meetings with the therapist. I was hoping to get a point-by-point plan to get her on to the “children would be best-advised to listen to their parents” notion, but what I got were two inquiries as to whether she had been tested for giftedness (lo and behold, she was later tested, through the national Dept. of Education, and she is). Also encouragement that we are doing the right things with her, being strict and repetitive and full of rules and constantly dragging her out from her fun little bubble of books to meet the rest of the world, replete with table manners and social cues and train schedules.
But, wow, I’m sick of it. I’m tired of the sound of my own voice. I’m tired of a five-minute task being dragged out to one hour. I’m tired of the morning song-and-dance. I’m tired of the threats to take away stuff. I’m tired of negotiating showers. I am tired of her not seeing the big picture–that if she will just put down her book for 10 damn minutes and play with AM that he will stop whining and I will back her up for having made an effort.
Apparently there is no evidence that Einstein said “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results,” but nevertheless I really want to try to apply that what I’m doing here, because Plan A (or B or C or whatever the hell plan we’re on) isn’t working.
I kind of want to just let go of everything, let her dishes pile up at her place at the table, let her laundry pile up on the floor, let her dirty socks and papers and dust bunnies populate her room, not enforce bedtime, let her go to school without putting on sunscreen (although this would cause me guilt in extremis–it is like the surface of the sun out there lately).
I want her to be easy. Just to see what that would be like. I mean, I’d probably think she was now a zombie or a Stepford Wife, but it might be pleasant. And not attract the attention of the neighbors with all the yelling all the time.
So…let us see if I can, just a smidge, let go.